From The BOOK OF ISAIAH 39:
1-8
Hezekiah of Judah had been
gravely ill but survived. The king of Babylon sent a delegation to
Hezekiah. They took a letter written by
the king himself and a gift which he’d personally
selected.
Hezekiah showed the Babylonian
delegation his house and the precious things therein.
The silver, the gold. The spices, the rare and
expensive ointments. The adornments. The
house and his dominion over the house. Hezekiah showed it all.
When Isaiah the prophet son of
Amoz next met Hezekiah he asked: “Who were those men
and where did they come from?”
Hezekiah
told Isaiah: “They
were a delegation come from
Babylon.”
Isaiah asked: “What did you show them?”
“The
house and everything precious within the house. The
silver, the gold. The spices, the rare and expensive ointments. The
adornments. All that is in the house, I
showed them. And my
dominion over all.”
Then Isaiah the prophet said:
“Hear these words from the
Lord of Hosts. The day nears when
all that is in your house, all
that your fathers gathered up and laid in store, will be
taken from you
and
carried to Babylon, so that nothing precious will be found in your house.
Nothing
will remain.”
“And
your sons yet to be, those you will beget, they shall
be taken from you, and they shall be made eunuchs in the
court of the king of Babylon.”
Hezekiah replied to Isaiah: “Good are the words you have spoken. Surely there will be peace and
understanding
all the days of my life.”
--- A free adaptation of chapter 39 from the Book of
Isaiah. My approach is based upon a reading of that text as found in the King James Version. I also consulted the New Oxford Annotated Bible/New Revised Standard Version with the Apocrypha (Oxford, 2010). The lineation above does not conform to my original intentions. I tried to match what I'd written on my computer screen before copying it into the blog post above, finding ultimately that I could not do so. If you are a poet you will know how inhospitable e-blogger is to the creative use of space and unconventional employment of line. The poet is no less burdened by pain than any other person in this wretched age, but there are irritations peculiar to the efforts of writing a poem: situating a poem on a blog is one such irritation. Perhaps one day the activities of the poet will be given a measure of accommodation in this matter.